


Practically Perfect

by vitruvianwatson (keepyoureyesfixedonme)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Sex, Barista Sherlock, But it doesn't actually take place in the coffee shop sorry, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, John is a Very Good Doctor, M/M, Office Sex, Older John, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock is emotionally insecure, Sugar Daddy, Younger Sherlock, don't get too excited about that 'cause it's only kind of, ish, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepyoureyesfixedonme/pseuds/vitruvianwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a knock on the door, and then it opened.  John shook the thoughts out of his head and looked up with his fake “I’m your kindly doctor” smile plastered on his face, but a second later his jaw dropped because his “patient” wasn’t a patient at all.  It was none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes.  Not only that, but he was dressed in one of his more indecent outfits—skin tight jeans that looked like they’d been bloody painted on, and a purple button-down that was straining, to say the least, to remain buttoned.  John wondered if he’d worked at the coffee shop in that outfit today.  He shut the door and leaned back against it with a wicked smile, and John heard the click of the lock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practically Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morwen_Eledhwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morwen_Eledhwen/gifts).



> This ficlet (or fucklet, as I like to call smutty ficlets) was written for tumblr user [thespanishcockerel](http://thespanishcockerel.tumblr.com) for their birthday. This is the first thing I've ever posted on this site, so do try and go easy on me. :D It hasn't been edited or britpicked, however, so if anyone wants to go for it, please do so; I would be forever grateful. You can find me on tumblr at [vitruvianwatson](http://vitruvianwatson.tumblr.com) if you're interested.

John sat back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. Work was exceedingly slow today; only a few children with minor cuts and bruises that their mothers had obsessed over and a couple cases of the flu.  He’d been filling out paperwork for the last hour, and the tediousness of it was beginning to wear on him.

He dropped his hands and stared at his desk for a moment, eyeing the papers scattered all over it with distaste.  He let out a long, low sigh and had just picked up his pen to resume when his mobile dinged in his pocket.  The pen fell out of his hand immediately.

The text was from Sherlock, and John couldn’t help smirking a little.

_You didn’t come by this morning. SH_

Trust Sherlock to dance around asking the actual question of _why_ John didn’t come by the shop that morning. Sherlock didn’t like to seem confused or like he’d missed something.

_Look at you, stating the obvious. Silly boy.  ;)_

John waited a couple of minutes, but Sherlock didn’t respond. Perhaps John shouldn’t be teasing him; Sherlock had a tendency to think John was angry with him whenever he didn’t show up for his morning coffee.  He sent another text.

_Was running late. Haven’t quite gotten back into the swing of things since I got back from Harry’s.  I’ll stop by after work._

_You’re always so irritated when you don’t get your coffee.  SH_

John smiled and leaned back in his chair again.  Anything to avoid more paperwork.

_You’ll just have to un-irritate me then, won’t you?_

_“Un-irritate” isn’t a word. When do you get off work? SH_

_Cheeky. Six._

_Too long.  SH_

John tried to stop his smile from spreading into an all out grin, but it wasn’t going well.  It had been a few days since he’d seen Sherlock actually.  Sherlock had been visiting his parents for the New Year, and John had been visiting his sister.  It hadn’t stopped them from having some absolutely filthy conversations via text and phone, however, but it wasn’t quite the same.

_Patience, darling._

_It’s my birthday. Don’t I deserve a treat? SH_

John laughed.

_Your birthday’s tomorrow, you git. And you know perfectly well I’ve got plenty of lovely things planned for you._

He picked up his tea to take a sip, still holding his phone in his other hand, waiting for it to go off again.  He was pleased at the thought that Sherlock might have missed him more than he’d ever be willing to admit.  John had missed Sherlock more than he’d expected to, actually, and he did have a wonderful day planned for his young lover’s birthday.  His phone dinged, and he opened the message.

_Does one of those ‘lovely things’ involve me sucking your cock?  SH_

John nearly choked on his tea.  He was just about to reply when another text came through.

_I was going to this morning, you know.  When you came in. I was going to take you into the loo and get down on my knees and show you just how much I’ve missed having your cock in my mouth.  SH_

John read this over a couple of times and then let his head fall back against the chair with a hiss as the image really sank in.  He should put a stop to this immediately. He had a patient coming in a few minutes.  He took a deep breath and sent back a reply.

_Sherlock.  You know better than to distract me at work._

_I also know better than to think you don’t love it.  SH_

_Sherlock._

_Not a denial.  SH_

John’s intercom buzzed then.  “Dr. Watson.  Your next appointment has arrived.  Shall I send him in?”

John leaned forward and pressed the button to respond.  “That’s fine, Becky, send him along.”

_I’ve got to go, love, I have a patient.  Be good, and I’ll see you later, hmm?_

He put his phone in his desk drawer so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it for a bit and then rested his elbows on the desk and rubbed hard at his eyes, concentrating on stopping all his blood from running south. Sherlock and his damnable dirty talk.  The boy was insatiable sometimes.  Then again, John couldn’t help remembering what _he’d_ been like at twenty-one.  And even now, at thirty-seven, he had to admit that, at least when it came to Sherlock, he was just as easily riled up.

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened.  John shook the thoughts out of his head and looked up with his fake “I’m your kindly doctor” smile plastered on his face, but a second later his jaw dropped because his “patient” wasn’t a patient at all. It was none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes.  Not only that, but he was dressed in one of his more indecent outfits—skin tight jeans that looked like they’d been bloody _painted on_ , and a purple button-down that was straining, to say the least, to remain buttoned. John wondered if he’d worked at the coffee shop in that outfit today.  He shut the door and leaned back against it with a wicked smile, and John heard the click of the lock.

“Sherlock, what the—”

“You really should pay more attention to your patient list for the day, John,” Sherlock said as he walked forward into the room.  “My name was right there.”

John’s eyes narrowed.  “My secretary takes care of the patient lists.  As you very well know,” he said.

Sherlock shrugged and stopped next to John’s desk, his fingertips stroking along the wood almost reverently.  “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

John tried not to let his gaze wander down Sherlock’s body, which was practically on display for him already, as tight as his clothes were. “Weren’t we just discussing how you shouldn’t be distracting me at work?”

Sherlock insinuated himself easily between John and his desk, climbing gracefully onto John’s lap, his knees digging into the leather of the chair on either side of his hips.  His bum sank down onto John’s thighs, and he wound his arms around the doctor’s neck, rocking his body a little.  “I’m not distracting you from work.  I made an appointment.  I’m your patient.  I _am_ work.”

"Yes, you certainly are  _work_ , aren't you?"  John’s hands immediately slipped up along the younger man’s thighs, his eyes roving down the long, pale neck and the buttons straining against his chest. “You’ve been planning this for ages, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual already. He’d almost forgotten just how good it felt to have Sherlock’s weight pressing against him, and the smell of coffee lingering around Sherlock’s hair and clothes was actually rather lovely. He tried not to think about how easily he was giving in to this ridiculous little disruption.

Sherlock smirked and leaned in, his lips so close to John’s that John could almost taste him already.  “Obviously,” he said, just barely ghosting his mouth across John’s.

John huffed slightly and slid one hand up the curve of Sherlock’s spine, all the way up into his hair where he curled his fingers around the silky strands at the back of his head.  “My naughty boy,” he said, and then he was using his hold to pull Sherlock into a proper kiss, firm and insistent.  Sherlock’s lips parted at the first touch of John’s tongue, and he moaned when the doctor tugged at his curls as he licked into his mouth.

“I w-wanted to see you,” Sherlock gasped into his mouth.  “I—I booked the appointment for the next—oh _god_ —the next hour.”

Sherlock faltered when John tightened his grip in Sherlock’s hair and pulled his head to the side, his lips latching on to his neck in order to suck a bruise into the pale skin.  It had been too long since he’d last marked him; his skin was so fresh and so unclaimed that it made John’s possessiveness kick into high gear.  He didn’t like the idea of Sherlock walking around in such indecent attire without some sign that he was bloody taken. When he was satisfied with the mark he’d made, he licked over the sensitive skin and then trailed a path of gentle kisses up the side of Sherlock’s neck.

“You missed me,” he said softly against the edge of his jaw. He both felt and heard Sherlock swallow.

“I never said that,” the younger man said hoarsely.

John nuzzled against his throat, breathing him in, pressing his nose to his pulse point so he could feel the rapid hammering of Sherlock’s heart. It still amazed him how easy it was to take Sherlock apart, to break down his walls with the kind of affection and intimacy that he’d gone so long without.  Just a few minutes ago Sherlock had come waltzing in like he owned the place and now he was already melting in John’s arms.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmured against his skin.  “I can feel it in your skin…hear it in the way you say my name…taste it on your lips.” 

He pulled back some.  Sherlock was suddenly tense in his arms, his eyes shut tightly, and his jaw clenched as if he was in physical pain.  John released his hold on Sherlock’s hair and smoothed his hand down the back of his neck, squeezing gently as his other arm circled Sherlock’s waist.

“You know I missed you, too,” he said gently, pulling a stiff Sherlock closer so he could press a kiss first to one prominent cheekbone and then the other. “No shame in it, love.”

Sherlock just shook his head minutely and ducked down, pressing his forehead to John’s shoulder.  “Please, I—I want to touch you,” he said, his voice muffled and almost pleading.

John turned his head some and nosed into the curls at Sherlock’s temple. “I’m all yours, darling.”

That’s all it took for Sherlock’s mouth to immediately find John’s neck, lips parted and tongue exploring heatedly as if he couldn’t get away from that conversation fast enough.  John just lifted his chin obligingly as Sherlock feverishly worked his way around to the front of John’s throat, teeth very gently scraping over his Adam’s apple while dexterous fingers began pulling at the button on John’s trousers. John’s hands wandered up and down Sherlock’s back, over his arse, squeezing gently.

“Do you have extra clothes here?” Sherlock asked, his voice breathy.

“Mmm,” John hummed in affirmation, his eyes closing and his head tilting back against the chair.  He always kept a couple of spare shirts and a pair of trousers around the office; being a doctor, you never knew when you were going to end up with someone’s bodily fluids all over your clothes.  “Why do you ask?”

Sherlock skimmed his lips back along John’s jaw, nipping slightly with his teeth, as his hand worked its way inside John’s trousers, palming him over the thin material of his pants.  John sucked in a sharp breath and lifted his hips as much as he could against Sherlock’s weight, pressing into the sensation.

“I ask…” Sherlock said, speaking against his ear and rubbing his cock gently, “because I’m planning on letting you take off all my clothes so I can ride your cock, just like this, just the way you like it.”

John licked his lips, his breath coming out unevenly now as Sherlock’s hand, still so teasingly outside of his pants, curled around his hardening erection. “And what exactly does that have to do with _my_ clothes, hmm?” he asked as levelly as he can even though he knew the answer to his question already. He just wanted to hear Sherlock say it in that lovely voice of his.

Sherlock pulled back some, putting his free hand to John’s shoulder for leverage and pressing up on his knees just slightly so he could get his hand between them more easily, and he finally slipped it into the waistband of John’s pants, warm fingers wrapping loosely around his cock.  John groaned, his hands gripping Sherlock’s hips hard. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and leaned in to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy as he stroked John’s cock slowly, so achingly slowly.

“Weren’t you listening?” he breathed into John’s mouth.

John smiled slightly, reaching up to trail his fingertips along Sherlock’s jaw. “Tell me, baby.”

Sherlock pressed his forehead to John’s and tightened his grip on his cock, making the doctor shudder slightly.  “When I come,” Sherlock said, his voice low and breathless, “I’m going to come all over your nice shirt.  That’s what you want, isn’t it?  You loved having me that way.  Didn’t you? I know you did.”

Sherlock had barely gotten the words out before John was kissing him again, hard and with absolute abandon.  He should’ve known Sherlock had noticed.  They’d only done it this way the one time, on the sofa at John’s flat a few days before they’d parted ways for the holidays.  It had ended up with John still fully clothed and Sherlock completely nude, sinking slowly down onto John’s cock. John had fucking _loved_ it; he’d never come so bloody hard in his life, and of course Sherlock had taken note of that.  Even the thought of doing it again was making John even harder. Of course, that could also be Sherlock’s hand stroking his cock even faster.

“John,” Sherlock gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to say anything else because John pressed his tongue back between those kiss-swollen lips, licking against Sherlock’s tongue and feeling almost as if he could _taste_ the moan that Sherlock released in response.

John gripped Sherlock’s wrist tightly, pulling at it so that the younger man would release his hold on John’s cock.  He felt Sherlock frown into the kiss, and John pulled back with a smirk.

“Gotta let go if we want to get that shirt off of you, love,” he said.

Sherlock licked his lips, his brow pulled together, and finally loosened his grip. John hissed slightly at the loss of friction that came with Sherlock pulling his hand out, but it couldn’t be helped unfortunately.

“Do you want to do it?  Or do you want me to?” Sherlock asked, his hands hovering at the first button on his shirt.

John let his eyes wander slowly down Sherlock’s torso and then back up, watching the flush creep into his pale neck.  He rubbed Sherlock’s thighs soothingly.  “Deduce it,” he said, grinning wickedly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, but then his gaze flicked all around John’s face, and it was only a moment later that his long fingers closed around the first button and pulled it out of the hole, revealing just a little more of his chest.  John nodded even though he knew Sherlock didn’t need the confirmation, and he watched hungrily as Sherlock slowly worked his way down, flicking the buttons of the shirt undone one by one.

“That’s it, darling,” John said, squeezing his thighs gently as his eyes followed the path of Sherlock’s hands.  “So bloody gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s chest rose and fell more rapidly with each button.  John knew he loved this, loved the attention when he, for lack of a better word, performed for the doctor, revealing himself bit by bit.  Telling Sherlock he was beautiful turned the younger man almost as much as touching his cock did.

“ _John_ ,” he moaned when he was nearing the last button.

“Yeah, so good for me, baby,” John murmured, staring at Sherlock’s navel. His jeans were sitting low on his hips, and John had the sneaking suspicion Sherlock wasn’t wearing any underwear, which was a lovely thought indeed.

Sherlock’s hands were trembling slightly as he pulled at the last button. His hands moved back upwards then as if to push his shirt off, but John grabbed them before he could.

“Not just yet, love,” he said.  “You’re not done unbuttoning yourself.”  He guided Sherlock’s hands back down to the waistband of his jeans, pressing the younger man’s fingers to the button there.  “Go on.  Show me.”

Sherlock hesitated a fraction of a second, his eyes glued to John’s, and then he pulled the button free with a whisper of his fingers against fabric. John only looked away when he heard the grit of the zipper, his gaze sliding down the pale sliver of Sherlock’s chest he could see through his open shirt, down, down until he found Sherlock’s hands still lingering just there.  John licked his lips and gripped Sherlock’s fingers again, pulling them away.

“Allow me,” he said, and he slipped his own fingers into the waistband of those jeans.  Sherlock let out a tiny noise and arched into the feeling slightly.  John just barely edged the denim down Sherlock’s slim hips, folding down the sides of the vee that was made when Sherlock unzipped and tugging until the little trail of hair leading down from his navel began widening, peaking out over the edge.

“Naughty boy,” John said, glancing back up at Sherlock’s face, which was flushed with arousal, his irises nearly swallowed by his dilated pupils. “Walking around with no pants on. It’s indecent.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but all he got out was “You—” before he broke off with a gasp as John’s hands slipped around to grip Sherlock’s arse tightly, pulling him hard against himself and pushing to his feet, immediately pressing Sherlock back onto his desk and crowding into his space.

Sherlock let out a surprised, breathy little “ _Oh_ ” as his legs automatically bracketed John’s hips.

John’s hands smoothed up Sherlock’s chest, beneath the open shirt, until they curved over his shoulders and down his arms, bringing the shirt with them. Sherlock trembled beneath the touch, his back arching.  John leaned in to press kisses down his throat as he pulled the shirt down to Sherlock’s elbows, bunching it up in his hand and holding it at the small of his back so that Sherlock’s arms were pulled slightly behind him and he couldn’t use them.

“John, oh _god,_ ” he gasped as John’s lips closed around one of his nipples.  His body undulated under the attention, and John just barely grazed his teeth over that hardening nub, making Sherlock cry out.

“Shh, baby, not too loud,” John murmured as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down Sherlock’s sternum, down his stomach, his tongue flicking into that navel briefly. 

Sherlock nodded and bit his lip hard.  John released the shirt, and the younger man wriggled out of it all the way, throwing it to the side before raising both of his hands to John’s head, threading his fingers through the short strands.

“John—”

“Shh,” John cut him off.  “Lay back for me.”

Sherlock did as he was instructed, lowering himself onto the somewhat chilly surface of John’s desk, papers crinkling underneath him.  John, bent over him, continued the path his lips were taking, kissing down below Sherlock’s navel, over to one of his prominent hipbones. He scraped his teeth over it, and Sherlock couldn’t help bucking up some.

John ducked just a bit lower and sucked hard at the skin beneath that hipbone while one hand slipped down Sherlock’s clothed leg to pull at his shoes, not bothering with untying them.  Definitely no time for that, not the way Sherlock was squirming beneath him.  One shoe hit the floor with a _clunk_ , followed quickly by the other.

John pulled back then to admire his handiwork, the fingers of one hand tracing over the lovely new mark he’d made.  Sherlock’s chest was heaving, and he pressed his hips up pleadingly. When John met his eyes they were hooded and full of a liquid heat that John could feel running through his own veins.

Neither of them said anything, and after a long moment, John stepped back just a little, took hold of the bottoms of Sherlock’s jeans, and pulled, his eyes fixed on Sherlock as the younger man wriggled and squirmed, panting with the effort, in order to get himself out of the ridiculously tight fabric. But it wasn’t long before John was dropping them—along with Sherlock’s socks, which he’d pulled off along the way—onto the floor and stepping quickly, eagerly back between Sherlock’s now bare legs, his hands rubbing up those pale while thighs and smoothing over his pelvic, fingers just barely brushing the sides of Sherlock’s cock, which was already hard and laying against his stomach now that it was free of the confines of skin-tight jeans.  Sherlock jerked at the touch and his hands covered John’s to stop them.

“Don’t, I—”  He broke off and took a deep, shuddering breath.  “I—I’ll come if you touch me.”

John couldn’t help raising his eyebrows, but he passed his hands firmly up Sherlock’s sides instead, leaning down to press a kiss to his breastbone. “Told you you missed me,” he murmured there.

“Sh-shut up,” Sherlock gasped.  His hands curled into John’s shoulders, fingernails biting into his skin as John’s shirt rubbed against his erection.

“Never,” John whispered, kissing up his throat and over his chin, finally finding Sherlock’s lips again.  Sherlock moaned around John’s tongue, his legs coming up to wrap around the doctor, and John straightened up, pulling Sherlock with him until he was sitting on the desk once more, bare arse against John’s discarded paperwork.

“John,” Sherlock said breathlessly into his mouth, his arms winding around John’s neck.  “John, please.”

John just hummed against his lips and slid his hands down to Sherlock’s thighs again, gripping him just beneath the knees and pulling at his legs so that Sherlock would unwrap them from around his waist.  He stepped back some, and Sherlock followed, sliding off the desk and never breaking the kiss, not even when John eased himself back into the chair and Sherlock followed, clambering back up onto his lap.

John’s hands wandered leisurely down Sherlock’s back, fingers pressing into the notches of his spine, kneading, almost massaging as they went, and Sherlock arched against him, his breath speeding up once more.

“Tell me what you want,” John murmured, nudging his face against Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock trembled against him, his hands gripping John’s upper arms tightly. “I want—I want you inside me. Your fingers…your cock…I want to f-feel you.  I want to make you come for me…”

John nipped lightly at his neck as one hand pressed against the small of Sherlock’s back to the steady him while the other slipped down over the curve of his arse, fingers pressing in between plump cheeks, and—

“Oh _Christ_ ,” John groaned. Sherlock’s hole was already wet with lube when John rubbed his index finger over it.  “Oh, fucking hell, you naughty, naughty thing.”

“I was—oh, _oh_ —I was feeling im-impatient,” Sherlock moaned, pressing back into the feeling as John slipped one finger easily inside, curling it against silky inner walls. “So I t-took the liberty of— _fuck_ —of prepping myself in—in the waiting room loo.”

“God, how did I ever go more than a week without you, you practically perfect genius?” John asked, slipping in a second finger and groaning at the feeling of Sherlock tightening slightly around the intrusion.

“Only—only practically?” Sherlock gasped, rocking back and forth on John’s fingers, breath rattling harshly out of his chest with each new thrust.

John laughed and pulled his head back some, looking up at Sherlock whose eyes were closed and whose head was tilted back, exposing the long line of his neck. “Don’t want that ego to get overinflated, do I?” he asked, and a small smile cracked Sherlock’s features for a split second.

“Bit late…for that,” he panted, and then he suddenly went absolutely rigid with a barely bitten off shout when John crooked his fingers, rubbing them against Sherlock’s prostate.  “Oh god, John, _John._ ”

“Where’d you put the lube, darling?” John asked, but Sherlock could hardly get the words out because John was still pressing relentlessly against that sweet spot.

“I—it’s…I put it in—in my p-pocket,” he stuttered, writhing on John’s fingers.

Luckily Sherlock’s jeans were right by John’s feet, so he hooked one foot under them and brought it up slightly.  “Reach back and grab those for me, would you, love?”

Sherlock swallowed hard and blindly reached behind himself to take hold of the fabric. John finally let up, gently extricating his fingers from Sherlock’s arse as he took the offered jeans from Sherlock.  Sherlock practically slumped against him, a shaky and sweaty mess.

“You don’t—you don’t n-need to, I’m—I’m r-ready,” he said weakly.

“Mm, yes, you did a lovely job on yourself,” John said as he fished the lube out of a pocket before tossing the jeans aside once more.  “This is for me, silly boy.  Hold out your hand.”

Sherlock straightened up some, looking dazed and debauched already, and held out his hand as John requested.  John squirted some of the lube onto his palm and then dropped the bottle on the floor by the jeans.

“Go on, then,” John said, nodding down at his own crotch.

Sherlock licked his lips, his eyes darting down to where John’s trousers were still open and his cock was straining up against them.  He used his dry hand to ease John’s waistband down, followed by the waistband of his pants, freeing his cock.  John watched Sherlock’s throat work around a swallow before he lowered his lubed hand and wrapped his fingers around John’s erection.

“Oh, yeah,” John said, ignoring the slight chill of the lube in favor of the feeling of Sherlock’s slick hand sliding slowly up his cock.  “Yeah, baby, that’s so good.”

Sherlock coated John’s cock liberally with the lube, leaning in for a kiss while he stroked him up and down, up and down, twisting his wrist slightly at the head.  John sucked eagerly at Sherlock’s tongue, licking all around it, moaning when Sherlock tightened his grip and swiped a thumb over the head of his cock.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” John said after a long couple of moments, pulling his head back and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down one of Sherlock’s arms. “You ready?”

Sherlock just nodded, releasing John’s cock and rising up on his knees some. He wiped his hand on John’s shirt, making John cock an eyebrow at him.  Sherlock just smiled sheepishly and gripped the back of the chair with both hands as John wrapped one hand around his own cock, holding it in place, his other hand going back to Sherlock’s arse, rubbing at his hole gently as Sherlock began lowering himself.  When John felt the head of his cock pressing just where his fingers were pressing he let his hand drop and nodded to Sherlock who slowly, so beautifully slowly, sank down until the head of John’s cock was pushing into him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” John gasped. He’d almost forgotten just how fucking glorious fucking Sherlock was.  “Don’t stop, Sherlock, oh _Christ_.”

“I—I’m n-not going to last very l-long,” Sherlock said shakily.

John reached up and brushed the hair from Sherlock’s sweaty forehead. “That’s fine, love, you know that’s fine.  But _god_ , if you don’t move soon I’m going to literally die.”

Sherlock let out a surprised little strained bark of laughter, and then he was sinking down again, slowly taking John’s cock inside of himself. “Well, we—we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

John gripped Sherlock’s hips hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and tilted his head back against the chair, breathing harshly through his nose as his cock was gradually enveloped in wonderful, tight heat.  “Mm, might be hard to explain to the— _ah_ _Jesus_ —to the secretary,” John said.

Sherlock just barely huffed in laughter and then he was fully seated, John’s cock pressed up completely inside of him, and he squirmed slightly, re-acclimating himself to the feeling.

“You all right?” John asked.

“Mmhmm,” came the moaned reply as he apparently wriggled enough to find the exact angle he needed.  “ _Yes_ , I—I’m f-fine.  Oh _god._ ”

John rubbed Sherlock’s sides, up and down, hands firm against his heated skin, and said, “Go on, baby, let me see you ride me.”

Sherlock’s fingers curled into John’s shirt at his shoulders, clenching the fabric until his knuckles were white, and he eased himself up some, John’s cock sliding almost all the way back out, and then back down, just a little faster than before.

“Yeah, oh god, yeah,” John groaned, his hands sliding around to Sherlock’s arse, squeezing it as Sherlock did it again, up and down.

“John,” Sherlock panted, but it seemed that was all he was capable of saying as he quickened his pace just slightly.  “John, _John_.”

John pressed two fingers between those cheeks, feeling the edges of Sherlock’s hole where his cock disappeared into the younger man’s body, feeling himself slide in and out over and over again.  “That’s it, baby, don’t stop, god, don’t ever stop,” he muttered, his hands roaming up Sherlock’s back, down his sides, back to those hips again where he resumed his earlier grip.

Sherlock’s chest rose and fell heavily as he fucked himself on John’s cock, sweat beading on his face and neck, and after a moment he leaned back some, one hand going behind him to grip the desk for more leverage as he pushed himself up and back down onto John’s cock, harder and faster.  John huffed, biting his lip at the sight of Sherlock’s back arched, his chest sweat-slick, his cock flushed and leaking precome. He knew exactly when he hit Sherlock’s prostate because Sherlock’s breath hitched around a whine, his eyes widened, and his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around the edge of the desk.

“God, look at you,” John said breathlessly, sliding one hand up Sherlock’s stomach, his chest.  Sherlock let out a whimper when John flicked a thumb over his nipple.  “So fucking gorgeous, baby.  So beautiful, look at you, _Christ_ , no one should be that fucking stunning.”

Sherlock’s stomach seemed to tremble beneath John’s touch, and his thighs started to shake.  “Oh god,” he said, his voice almost panicked.  “John, _god_ , John, stop it, I—I’m g-gonna come if you—”

John pressed two fingers in between Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock moaned around them, sucking on them as eagerly as if he’d had John’s cock in his mouth.

“I swear I spent all of my holidays staring at that picture I took of you on my mobile, the one where you’re stretched out naked on my bed, just after I’d fucked you,” John went on relentlessly as Sherlock moaned and fucked himself faster, those cupid’s bow lips sliding up and down his fingers. “Do you remember? That tiny little smile on your face, those curls a fucking mess, a goddamn riot, but so beautiful, Sherlock, everything about you.”

Sherlock pulled off of John’s fingers with a gasp.  “ _John_ ,” he pleaded, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

John slowly slid his hand back down, over his throat, down his chest, towards his cock.  “C’mon, baby, I know you’re ready to come for me.”

Sherlock shook his head frantically and grasped John’s wrist to stop him as if he couldn’t even bear the thought.  “I w-wanted it to l-last,” he gasped, stopping his movements for the moment so that John was bereft of the lovely, tight friction.

“No, sweetheart, you’re too riled up for it to last right now,” John said as soothingly as he could when he was this goddamn horny.  “It can last later tonight.  I’ll take you so slow and sweet tonight, baby, I promise.  So slow you’ll be begging me to hurry up, but I won’t, I won’t let you come until I’m good and ready for you to, hmm?”

Sherlock was huffing air in and out through his nose, his eyes still shut so tightly it looked like they’d get stuck that way.  But then he took a deep breath, and it shuddered out of him in something like defeat.

“Promise?” he asked weakly, his eyes opening to find John’s.

John wrapped a warm hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss, gentler this time.  “I promise,” he murmured against those perfect lips.  “Now let me feel you come for me.”

Sherlock hesitated only a few seconds longer before he released both John’s wrist and the desk behind him, pressing close to John once more, his arms wrapping around his neck as he sank back down onto the doctor’s cock again, the breath going out of him in a rush as if the pressure of being so full of John had expelled it from his lungs without his permission.

“Touch me now,” he breathed, touching his forehead to John’s as he rocked up and down.  “I’m ready, touch me, _please_.”

John didn’t need telling twice.  He lowered his hand and wrapped it tightly around Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock let out another loud cry, and John immediately raised his free hand to slip more fingers back into that mouth, which at least made Sherlock close his lips around them, muffling the sounds of his moans.

“Yeah, that’s it,” John said.  “C’mon, sweetheart, I’ve got you, just let go, you can let go.”

Sherlock rocked into John’s grip and then back down onto John’s cock twice more before his whole body tensed, his fingernails digging into John’s shoulders, his head falling back as John’s fingers slipped out of his mouth, and his lips rounded around the loveliest, breathiest little “ _Oh_ ” as his cock twitched in John’s hand, come dribbling down onto the doctor’s shirt and trousers, and it was probably the most fucking beautiful thing John had ever seen.  He might’ve forgotten about his own hard, _aching_ erection had Sherlock’s muscles not contracted around it, his already tight little arse tightening even more and adding _glorious_ pressure to John’s dick.

“Sherlock, oh god, baby, that was _perfect_ ,” John said, and he gripped those hips hard and thrust up into him as Sherlock practically went boneless against him, his face pressed against John’s neck. Sherlock let out tiny little noises as John fucked into him, chasing his own release in the tightness of Sherlock’s perfect body.  “So good for me, Sherlock, so good.”

John could feel the tension swelling up in his body, a tightening in his abdomen, the blood singing through his veins, his heart pumping hard in time with his thrusts.  All it took was for Sherlock to turn his head some and part his lips lazily against John’s neck, and John momentarily saw white as he thrust up one more time and his orgasm rushed up to meet him, firing through him in a moment of white hot heat that seemed to last for ages.  Sherlock let out the quietest little noise against his neck as John came inside of him.

It was a good minute before he came to, and when he did he found Sherlock still curled up against him, clinging to his shirt and mouthing at his ear.

“I don’t ever want to go that long without having your cock inside me ever again,” the younger man whispered, and John laughed weakly.

“I suppose next Christmas you’ll just have to introduce me to your parents, then, so we won’t have to be apart,” John teased, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s bare shoulder.

Sherlock lowered his face again, nuzzling against John’s neck, and was silent for a moment before he finally mumbled, “I told them about you.”

John froze, and for a few seconds everything was so very still and quiet that he could hear Sherlock’s hard swallow.  He couldn’t help being shocked.  Sherlock was so adamant about pretending to ignore the emotional aspect of this thing—even though he was rubbish at ignoring it—that it was a bit of a surprise that he would deliberately mention anything about John to his parents.

John opened his mouth, pulling in a breath to speak, but Sherlock pulled back with a glare.  “Don’t even say anything,” he said.  The threat in his voice was slightly lost by the hoarse quality to it.

John snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip, but he couldn’t quite hold back the tiny grin, which made Sherlock’s eyes narrow further.

“We’ll…talk about it later,” John said, a slight question in his voice.

Sherlock just starred at him for a moment before nodding somewhat stiffly. “You’ve got another patient coming in a few minutes,” he said, and John sighed.

“You certainly know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?”

“Well, if you like, I can just sit here naked on your lap with your cock up my arse until he or she walks in,” Sherlock said, shrugging.  “That would scare them away, and then we can have another go.”

John cocked an eyebrow.  “You don’t know that, maybe they’d wand to watch.  Or join in.”

Sherlock made a face, and John laughed, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Go on, love.  Get dressed and scarper; I’ll see you tonight.”

Sherlock hesitated a moment, his eyes roaming John’s face, and then he nodded and eased himself off of John’s lap, making them both hiss from overstimulation.

Once Sherlock had struggled back into his jeans and shirt, John walked him to the door of his office and pulled him down for one last, proper kiss, slow and languid.  When they parted, he pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s.  “Text me when you get to my place.  So I know you go there okay, hmm?”

Sherlock just hummed and leaned in for another kiss, which made John smile. “See you soon,” Sherlock murmured, and he pulled back and left, the door swinging shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! Or you can find me on tumblr: [vitruvianwatson ](http://vitruvianwatson.tumblr.com). Thank you for reading!
> 
> Works Inspired by this one: [Practically Perfect translation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3447164/chapters/7559303?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_24960035) by [jiyuu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jiyuu/pseuds/jiyuu)


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